I think I'll get a paper,
I think I'd better wait.
I'll hear the news at six o'clock,
That's much more up-to-date.
It's just like last September,
Absurd how time stands still;
They're bound to make a statement.
I don't suppose they will.
I think I'd better stroll around.
Perhaps it's best to stay.
I think I'll have a whisky neat,
I can't this time of day.
I think I'll have another smoke.
I don't know what to do.
I promised to ring someone up,
I can't remember who.
They say it's been averted.
They say we're on the brink.
I'll wait for the New Statesman,
I wonder what they think.
They're shouting. It's a Special.
It's not. It's just street cries.
I think the heat is frightful.
God damn these bloody flies.
I see the nation's keeping cool,
The public face is fine.
This crisis can't shake England's nerve . . .
It's playing hell with mine.